


Quarantine the Past

by WhiskeyCash



Series: The Wanderer [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Anal Sex, Author Commentary, Blood and Violence, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Comedy, Dark Comedy, Drama, Drinking, Erotica, Explosions, Fighting, Frottage, Heavy Feels, Inspired by Music, M/M, Meta, Music, Plot Driven, Plot Twists, Porn With Plot, Psychological Drama, References to Drugs, Screenplay/Script Format, Smut, Spoilers, Tragicomedy, Trust Issues, feature script, intense drama, mostly canonical, oc ending, pavement
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:28:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26585125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiskeyCash/pseuds/WhiskeyCash
Summary: Following the end of New Vegas, Jackson and Vulpes trek across the Midwest as Jackson shares the tragicomedy story of when he was living in the Commonwealth during Fo4 where he knew Nate, a dangerously capable pre-war veteran who coerces a dark sexual relationship.
Relationships: Deacon (Fallout)/Original Character(s), Deacon/Male Sole Survivor, Male Courier/Vulpes Inculta, Vulpes Inculta/Original Character(s)
Series: The Wanderer [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/740184
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	1. Range Life

**Author's Note:**

> Big official thank you to all the readers and commenters showing your support for The Wanderer! Honestly, if you guys didn’t encourage me, I wouldn’t have bothered to finish it. Thank you! So here’s a sequel I was batting around set in Fallout 4 with more drama, jokes and sex. Totally my B though, I started this before realizing my dumb ass had the Fallout timeline backwards. Do me a favor and pretend like Fo4 comes before New Vegas. Format flips between present as Jackson and Vulpes walk, and past as Jackson narrates and he and Vulpes intermittently chat through the scenes. Hopefully it reads okay. HEAVY PLOT & SPOILERS (sped up some quest progression).  
> Come for the sex, stay for the plot… and also the sex.

**[Chapter 1] Range Life**

It’s mid-morning across the wastes and a molerat emerges from its den yawning to greet the day. Its nest is snuggled safely in the backseat of an old car sunken beneath a pile of junk. It muses, in its own simple way, what wonders the new day will bring. A whiff of musk answers its curiosity, followed by a bullet through its temple.

Its hunter is Vulpes Inculta, armed with a rifle and clad in wastelander armor instead of his Legion uniform. He ferries the molerat across the ragged wastes to a camp where it’s plopped next to someone sitting at the fire.

“Molerat? Really?” It’s Jackson Sims, AKA ya boi Courier Six. 

“There isn’t much of anything out here in Middle America...” Vulpes takes a spot on log, “Probably never was… And aren’t you supposed to be a survivalist?”

“Sure as stank on a ghoul. If anyone can make this disgusting rat edible it’s me,” Jackson grabs something from his bag, “Just need a bit of Wonderglue…”

“Glue??” Vulpes blinks.

Jackson glances back sheepishly, “Tastes better if you don’t think about it.”

Jackson fiddles through the radio signals on his Pipboy then turns his attention back to the molerat. Vulpes quietly watches Jackson prepare the meat over the campfire as a staticy Radio New Vegas plays. It’s been about three weeks since they left the Mojave. With Legion, NCR and House gone, people had no choice but to look after each other. Veronica found some purpose in her exile by reopening the Lucky 38, Boone remained in Novac and Raul would visit both to fix whatever needs fixing free of charge. Things had finally calmed down in the Mojave, and Vulpes notices Jackson’s tenseness begin to fade as they move further from Mr. New Vegas’ signal.

“ _…Something incredible is happening_ ,” Mr. New Vegas reports, “ _There are reports all up and down the eastside of—get this—grass! That’s right! Green as a Supermutant’s ass! I tell ya, I wasn’t sure if we could bounce back after the Battle for Hoover Dam but ladies and gentleman, for the first time in any of our lives we are seeing nature return! The dam’s water has made the soil fertile again and the Mojave has a new hope, thanks to that courier from Goodsprings. We love you, courier. And I love you, Mojave… But don’t you worry folks, I’m not going anywhere…_ ”

“Grass…” Vulpes scoffs, “Who would’ve thought?”

“Well, me,” chuckles Jackson as he roasts a haunch on an iron pan.

“Oh please,” Vulpes rolls his eyes, “Like you predicted the water would bring plant life back.”

“Maybe I did,” smirks Jackson, “I may not seem like much, but even you have to admit I’ve got some moves.”

“You’ve got luck is what you got,” Vulpes says, “I’ll remind you I’m a seasoned commander. If either of us knows strategy, it’s me.”

Vulpes expects a predictable quip in reply but Jackson just sits quietly, as if thinking. But Vulpes knows that can’t be right. Jackson then skewers the roast onto a tin plate and holds it out for Vulpes as an excitable grin creases his face.

“Oh I’ve lived more lives than you’d believe, V.”

“I have every reason to call Brahmin-shit on your story about underground lizard men wanting to take over the world,” Vulpes grabs the plate but Jackson keeps his grip.

“First of all, they’re called Tunnelers. Secondly, I don’t mean my New Vegas adventures…” his smile widens and he leans in a bit, “My stories from the Commonwealth.” (Again, my bad, just pretend Fo4 comes before New Vegas)

“Commonwealth?” Vulpes scoffs doubtfully, “Ugh, you’re such a liar.”

“Not anymore,” Jackson replies somberly. When Vulpes recognizes his sincerity, he grunts then rips the plate out of Jackson’s grip. “Fine, I’ll humor you. When were you in Boston?”

Jackson’s smile returns, “It was some years before we met.” Vulpes tears a mouthful off the roast and puts it down with a grimace and Jackson pauses to add, “Well I told you not to put shrapnel in the molerat.”

Vulpes wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, “You’ve never said anything about what you did before you were a courier. Why now?”

Jackson shrugs, putting another shank over the fire, “Well… it’s a long story, and we still got a long walk.”

“Right, you still haven’t told me where we’re going exactly. You just keep saying—”

“Ohhh, don’t you worry,” Jackson smirks, “I told you, I got some moves.”

“Yes, that,” Vulpes exhales, frustrated, “We’re on the same side now—you don’t have to keep me in the dark. In fact, I have a strong hunch you’re just making it up as we go along…”

“Do you want to hear about my mysterious past or not?”

Vulpes grunts again. “Fine. But I swear, if this is another goddamn two-hour joke where the punchline’s a Supermutant in a wig, I’m walking in the other direction and never talking to you again.”

Jackson’s laugh drowns Vulpes’ words out. “You know me, V,” his laugh peters, “You know the _me_ I am now. But I used to be… someone else. Many someone else, you could say… Back in my mysterious origin story… That I’ve never talked about… Hence its mystery…”

“Okay!” Vulpes shouts, “Are you going to tell me or not?”

“Oh, so suddenly you don’t like edging?” Jackson teases, then continues, “Alright, well I’m not from Boston but I spent a while in the Commonwealth. At the time, there was this whole thing about synths—you know synths, right? So, the people making them, the Institute, would decommission any that gained self-awareness. Which is fucked up, isn’t it? So I, uh, was part of this faction that helped smuggle sentient synths out of the Commonwealth. We called ourselves—”

“The Railroad,” Vulpes completes the thought with a nod.

Jackson smiles a little, “Yeah… The Railroad.”

“I recall hearing the name when Legion passed by the Capitol Wasteland, but it was whispered as an urban legend.”

“Hah,” Jackson chuckles, “Just as well… The Railroad was in a bad place before Nate came along.”

“Nate?” Vulpes prickles a little.

“Yeah,” he grins a bit, “Nate was… Well you think I have a talent for escaping death, you should’ve seen Nate. He even resurrected The Railroad nearly single-handedly from the brink of erasure… But…—shit!”

The roast on the pan breathes black smoke and Jackson flips the charred meat into the dirt with a swear. Vulpes tiredly pushes the remainder of his food to Jackson and presses him to continue.

“Jackson the Railroad agent? Sounds convincing.”

“Oh yeah,” he grins as he takes a few bites then continues through the side of his mouth, “But it wasn’t _Jackson_ at the time… I went by _Deacon_.”

Curiosity fully piqued, Vulpes watches Jackson’s words unfold in his mind as if he’s viewing the memories as film, or I guess reading them as a tasteful fanfic. (Enjoy the story, everyone!)

__________

A blinding light floods the underground passageway. Several silhouettes stand blackened and tall before a brawny man.

“Stop right there!” a voice cries, “Who the hell are you?”

“An ally,” the man replies confidently. He’s broad-shouldered and square-jawed with deep hallowed eyes and an iconic Pipboy around his wrist. “I’m looking for The Railroad!”

The searchlights dim and the man can see who greets him. The voice belongs to a red-haired woman in rags, flanked by several heavily armed guards. 

“I’m not sure how you managed to find our front door,” the woman points a cigarette at him, “But we don’t know you, stranger.”

“I know him,” a new figure emerges from the shadows. He’s tall and lean, wearing a dark wig and sunglasses. “This is Nate. You know, the _vault-dweller_.”

The woman looks over, “Deacon, you’re late… Intel.”

Deacon chuckles, “Uh, news flash… This guy is kind of a big deal out there. He’s left a trail of destruction in his wake, gone places no sane person would go alone…” Nate eyes Deacon’s sunglasses and he continues, “Trust me, he’s someone we want on our side.”

“What?” the woman scoffs a little, “Are you vouching for him?”

Deacon nods, “Definitely.”

Nate looks Deacon over. He knows they’ve never met but Nate’s had the feeling of being watched ever since he emerged from the vault. It’s a sense that came to him during his time in the army, and one that’s stayed relevant in the centuries since.

“I mean well,” Nate holsters his SMG then shows his empty hands, “I heard about your mission… I also heard The Railroad’s one foot in the grave. I bet I could do you better.”

__________

“Wait, hang on,” Vulpes cuts in as they walk along on foot, “Nate was from a vault? What would he know of the wasteland? And, uh… how tall was he? Taller than me?”

“Oh it’s even crazier, Vulpes,” Jackson stares off into the hills, “Nate was pre-war. That’s right. Put in cryogenic stasis as a Vault-Tec experiment. Thawed out 200 years later, and slaughtered his way through the Commonwealth to The Railroad’s doorstep. Imagine that. Some pre-war caveman fitting right into wasteland… Shows how far humanity’s come, huh?”

“Were you guys ever…?” Vulpes suggests.

“Can I maybe finish my story?” Jackson teases. Vulpes rolls his eyes. “So I had picked up enough intel on Nate to see the guy was, well, _capable_ is an understatement. The Institute was at its height and the Railroad was dying. I knew Nate could change that.”

__________

_After Switchboard, the first synth rescue job Desdemona gave Nate, she kept me tagging along. You know, show him how things are done and stuff. So me and Nate—_

_—Nate and I._

_—Vulpes, if you keep interrupting this is really going to drag out._

_—Fine. Continue._

_**Nate and I** … got the synth out safely, and Nate mowed down those Institute synths like no one’s business. He fought, you know, in Anchorage I think. You’d think those skills would be 200 years out of date but Nate was a true soldier if you ever saw one. Put the Brotherhood of Steel to shame… Hah, those dicks. _

“Now that went as well as it could’ve gone,” Deacon prides as he and Nate return to the Railroad HQ after their first synth escort mission. 

“You sound surprised,” Nate chuckles.

“I’m impressed!” Deacon beams, “Railroad hasn’t had a win like that in a while. In fact, this could help others to come. Word will get out, and maybe more people will even join our cause. Ahh… feels good to have something to smile about again.”

“You handle yourself pretty well,” says Nate.

“You sound surprised,” Deacon quips.

Nate smiles. “I’m impressed.”

_Dez was impressed with Nate, too. Maybe he didn’t have a bleeding heart like the rest of us but he was helping us do good things. He invited me to tag along for every dead drop thrown his way. Also dragged me up way too many skyscrapers for Tom’s MILAs… After a few missions, I think we both knew we found something special with each other—like as a mercenary duo, I mean. Calm down, Vulpes…_

_Nate was already locally famous as merc and I wound up following along with his non-Railroad jobs too. Helping settlements, clearing out muties, helping settlements, fetch quests, capturing settlements that would, of course, later need helping…. And man, that guy really liked to wander. I saw more of the ‘Wealth with Nate than I had in all my years combined. Eventually I found out all that running around… he was looking for something, or rather someone._

_—Boo, that’s lame!_

_—Shush._

“ _Bam_ …” Nate mimes a gun going off in Deacon’s face as they sit in his old house in Sanctuary Hills. “Just like that… _Bam_ ,” he mimics the gun again, “Five feet from me and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do… I saw his mug… The man who killed Nora. That moment I swore I’d hunt him down and blow that scar right off his goddamn face.”

Deacon swallows dryly, “Nate… That’s tragic, I mean, to say the least… But I gotta say, revenge won’t change anything.”

Nate gets to his feet and strides to the kitchen isle. “It’d be one less monster in the world.”

“Batman would disagree. But, look, you haven’t been in the Commonwealth long but you gotta see there are people like that everywhere. What are you going to do—? Kill everyone?”

Nate shrugs, “Maybe someone should.”

“Don’t go down this road, Nate,” says Deacon sternly, “It’s not a good road.”

“I’m not fielding opinions, Deacon,” Nate pours a shot of bourbon for himself, “You have no idea what it’s like to lose someone you love.”

“Well…”

“I know Shaun is out there,” Nate continues, swirling the liquor in his glass as he stares aimlessly through the shattered window, “And I know Kellogg knows where.”

Nate downs the glass, eyes still elsewhere as Deacon studies him. 

“You’re gonna get yourself killed messing with a guy like that,” Deacon says slowly.

“Hah, fat chance,” Nate scoffs, “I didn’t survive 200 years just to be iced before the final curtain... I’ll find Kellogg. And I’ll put a bullet in him and anyone else who stands between me and Shaun.” After a beat, he turns to Deacon, holding up the wedding band around his finger, “He’s all I have left.”

Deacon sighs, then gets to his feet. “I told you, guy like Kellogg and an army of synths will get you killed… without backup. Where do we start?”

_We had to chase a lot of leads and do a lot of favors, and help even more settlements, but we got on the right track thanks to a robot, a reporter and a dog. True story. Kellogg was held up in a fortress with a small army of synths. I really thought it was turning into a suicide run but the way Nate cleaned through them blind with vengeance… That’s something I’ve never seen from the outside. Tweren’t pretty._

“Check your fire,” Nate says to Deacon as he reloads his SMG at the doorway, “Kellogg’s ahead and I need some answers first. So keep your yap clamped. Gun ready, though.”

Deacon shakes his head, “You know we’re probably walking into a trap, right?”

“Well let’s go spring it,” Nate smirks, then pushes inside.

“Suuure, screw Cloak & Dagger,” Deacon follows him in.

When they enter the room, a handful of armed synths loom out from behind the broken terminals and tech. Kellogg appears at the center with a look of uncompromised ease.

“Well well, there he is,” Kellogg nods to Nate, “The most resilient man in the Commonwealth. Funny… Thought I had that honor—”

“There’s a mile long trail of Institute scrap metal I dropped on my way here, and that’s just from this morning,” growls Nate, “Unless you want the honor of _deadest_ man in the Commonwealth, you better get talking. Now.”

“Fine,” he scoffs, “I guess you’ve earned that much. Shaun’s in a good place… A place he calls home: The Institute.”

“Where is it? How do I get there?” (Thanks for your patience, I’m sure you’re all already familiar with this dialogue)

Kellogg scoffs, “Haven’t you been paying attention? You don’t find the Institute. The Institute finds you.”

“Get to the damn point, Cap’n Crunch!”

“Nate…” Deacon steps forward.

“You stay out of this!” Nate points a finger at Deacon, then turns back to Kellogg, “I need more. Tell me more!”

Kellogg exhales a small laugh as he retreats and his synths move forward with their weapons raised. “I think we’ve talked enough. We both know how this is going to end…”

The synths aim their guns and fire on Nate and Deacon as Kellogg makes a break out the security door. A synth moves in on Nate and he smashes it out of his way with the butt of his gun and charges for Kellogg, leaving Deacon swamped. 

“Nate!” Deacon dives for cover as a shower of lasers fall on him. But Nate’s already gone chasing Kellogg down the bend. “Seriously? Alright cool. Dozen synths, one me, no V.A.T.S., that’s fine. Bye Nate! I guess see you in Hell, which is where you’re definitely going!”

_Obviously I was okay in the end, but that was a serious dick move. I mean, leaving a companion in the crossfire… What if I got downed?_

_—I’ll always revive you, Jackson._

_—And then suck me off?_

_—Don’t push it._

_So, I put the synths down and caught up to Nate, who needless to say, stopped that coward Kellogg._

“Nate, you pre-war popsicle! You left me!” Deacon jogs to Nate, “Jesuschrist, what in the name of Lynda Carter are you doing?”*

Kellogg’s body lies in a bloody heap inside the elevator, head the opposite of unexploded, and Nate fishing around in a mess of brains like he lost his wedding ring inside a Brahmin. 

“Uh, hello? Earth to Hannibal Lecter!”

Nate grabs a lump from the sludge and shows it to Deacon, “This is how they get in and out of the Institute.”*

Deacon blinks, “…Through the power of positive thinking?”

“It’s a neural frequency modification.”

Deacon clucks. “That sounds made-up.”

Nate gets to his feet and pushes the bloody pulp uncomfortably close to Deacon’s face. “Don’t you get it? There is no entrance to the Institute. Wherever it is, it’s only accessible through this little teleporter,” Nate pockets it without so much as a Ziploc.

“Teleportation?” Deacon scoffs, “Pssh, that’s kinda stupid.”

Nate nods, “Yes, it’s definitely kind of stupid.”

* _Lynda Carter_. She voiced Magnolia (singer in the Third Rail bar) and even wrote and performed those songs herself! She was also the OG Wonder Woman [1976] and has an impressive list of other film credits. You also know her from Skyrim, as she voiced a few of the NPCs. Why does such an incredible woman pop in for Bethesda voice acting you didn’t ask? Well her husband is the CEO for Zenimax (Bethesda’s parent company). None of this has anything to do with the story, I just think it’s neat.

* _Kellogg drops a Courser Chip_. Noncanonical just to speed the main questline up. Whatever, call the cops.

**Switched things up a bit. Chapter names are songs from an indie band called Pavement. Great music as is, but listen to a few songs and tell me that singer doesn’t totally sound like Deacon’s voice actor.

(By the way, I hadn’t played Fo4 yet when I wrote The Wanderer. The overlap between Deacon and my Courier Six turned out to be a delightful coincidence, so I just had to draft something…! Alright, see you next chapter)


	2. Spit on a Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Driven by the desperate hope of finding his son, Nate readies himself to infiltrate the Institute and pressures Deacon to lower his guard, and his pants.

**[Chapter 2] Spit on a Stranger**

As nightfall came, Jackson and Vulpes took shelter in an old auto mechanic garage. Like the rest of the wasteland, the shop wrecked of decay but the two found hearty refuge in their super gay romance. After yet another day of wandering, or as Jackson calls it ‘ _of course I know where we’re going, stop asking me_ ,’ they recline in their bedrolls. Irresolute, Vulpes’ mind replays Jackson’s story. However, Jackson lies relaxed in his bedding and blows a final puff of smoke upward before flicking the cigarette butt against the back wall.

“Wanna do it?” he chirps.

Vulpes exhales a long sigh. “Two years and the romance is already dead.”

Jackson sits up. “Cut me a break, I lost my harmonica,” he crawls over Vulpes in his bedroll, “So, I assume you want to be the girl again?”

Vulpes shoves Jackson off him. “I can’t stop thinking about what you told me. About you—or should I say Deacon?—in the Commonwealth… That icicle from the vault… You think you know someone…”

“People have skeletons, deal with it,” Jackson brushes the dirt off himself, “I was pretty concerned when you told me you were the one who drowned Camp Searchlight in radiation. You’re basically an ex-warlord, but now I fuck you in the ass so I’d say we’re both complicated.”

“Charming… So what happened to Nate and the Institute?” Vulpes sits up.

“I said it was a long story. So we going to screw already?” Jackson braces his pants.

“I’m not sure, why don’t you go ask your _secret lover_ Nate?” Vulpes settles back into his bedroll facing the wall.

“This is an adorable shade on you, cactus flower,” chuckles Jackson, “But I like to think I blew up that dam for us. You don’t need to get all huffy about some crazy shit from another life/game.”

Vulpes turns back around, “Just tell me you two didn’t have _something_ … like what we have.”

“No… of course not,” Jackson scoffs as he sits next to Vulpes, “What you and I have is S.P.E.C.I.A.L.”

Vulpes reaches for Jackson’s hand and squeezes it softly. Jackson smiles and leans down for a quick kiss.

“But really,” Vulpes says as he pulls away, “I won’t be able to sleep unless you tell me what happened next.”

“Ah, if only I had my guitar to sing you this story. It’s a damn shame.”

“No it’s not,” Vulpes grunts as he sits up to rest beside Jackson.

__________

_We had a plan, of sorts. Using the tech Nate recovered from the inside of Kellogg’s face, Railroad would get him into the Institute, where we believed Shaun was. Desdemona wasn’t all that keen on the idea at first, but she got on board with the opportunity to have eyes and ears and many-penised hands inside the Institute after all those years. Even better, Nate was given a special mission to contact an informant for the Railroad. Nate and Tom built the teleporter at Sanctuary Hills and everything was set to launch the next day._

In the evening, Deacon wanders into Sanctuary Hills to see Nate off. The settlement sprouting in the old neighborhood has been growing gradually with Nate’s handiwork. Across from Nate’s house, Deacon sees the suit of X-01 Power Armor he once spent an entire fucking day watching Nate modify. Deacon had spent a serious amount of time standing around while Nate built weapon mods and various cabinets and other things… He approaches Nate’s house and finds him orbited by a vaguely blue rusted Mr. Handy.

“Sirrrr,” Codsworth strains, “I don’t suppose I could make a last attempt to persuade you from using that, that… death machine you built from spare parts.”

“You were programmed to worry too much,” Nate moves Codsworth out of his path to the liquor cabinet.

“With upmost respect, sir, as much as I too would love a swift reunion with Shaun, perhaps there’s a… back entrance to the Institute we’ve overlooked?” As Codsworth bobs around Nate, he notices Deacon in the doorway. “Oh, Mister Deacon! Thank G.A.I, maybe you can talk some sense into Master Nate.”

“Afraid not, Cods,” Deacon says, “But don’t worry. Railroad’s got him in good hands.”

Codsworth starts to protest again, but Nate walks him to the door and plucks a dusty bowler hat from the coatrack then fits it on the old robot’s head area.

“Lighten up, old chum,” Nate pats the side of his chastise, “Now go do a few laps around the block before you blow a gasket.”

Codsworth floats away muttering to himself, “Two-hundred years I’m here, Master Nate returns from certain doom only to traipse right back into it! How a robot possesses a greater perception of mortality, I’ll never understand…”

“So you really think it’ll work?” Nate asks, returning to the liquor cabinet, “The transporter?”

“According to Tom, and I quote: ‘ _maybe’_ ,” Deacon replies, taking a seat on the couch, “But I have a feeling luck’s on our side.”

“My side,” Nate corrects as he pours two glasses of whiskey and carries them to the couch, “I told Desdemona I’d find Patriot if it won’t blow my cover, but my priority is finding Shaun.” He hands Deacon his glass and takes the armchair across from him.

“Right,” Deacon nods, then sips his drink. After a beat, he pipes up, “Have you… you know, thought about what you’re going to do if you find him?”

“ **When** I find him,” Nate drinks.

“Alright… _When_ you find him, what are you going to do?”

Nate casts a sideways smile at him, downs the rest of his drink and gets up. “This was our home before the war, you know,” he motions around the room then points to the front door, “That’s where I carried Nora over the threshold when we got married.” He gestures to the kitchen isle. “That’s where we used to have breakfast.” He points to the couch Deacon is sitting on. “That’s where I was when Nora told me we were pregnant.” He scoffs, moving back to the liquor cabinet and pours himself another drink then stares out into the broken neighborhood. “This place was supposed to be our happily ever after…” Nate’s voice falls away until he notices Deacon staring at him expectantly. He sets his glass down on the cabinet, index finger tapping along its edge. “I don’t know what I’ll do when I find Shaun. But it’s something I have to do at any cost. I’ll get my happily ever after one way or another.” He picks up his glass and whiskey bottle and fills Deacon’s cup up fuller, though he’s hardly touched it. “And who knows? Maybe when this is all over, you’ll find something meaningful too.” Nate tilts his drink up in toast, gesturing Deacon to do the same.

“That something meaningful might be the booze you’ve been slinging me,” Deacon smirks, clinking his glass with Nate’s.

“I can think of worse things to live for,” Nate smiles and drinks.

Deacon sips his whiskey with a chuckle. “I gotta say, I’m used to flying solo. But I admit, working with you makes me think I’ve been missing out. Having someone to watch your back… it’s refreshing.”

“Mhm,” Nate smacks his lips, enjoying his drink, “Not as refreshing as fizz of radiation from the liquor that survived the bombs… At least something good came out of nuclear annihilation.”

“Yeah well, the company’s nice,” Deacon nods with a smile, “Especially since you never know when the Institute is watching… You know, some folks back at HQ are a little jealous of you. You get fingered by the Institute, they don’t just come after you; family and friends have been known to get the axe... Doesn’t matter much to me though. I’m a synth… at least that’s what they tell me. So I don’t really have anyone to lose.”

“Pardon?” Nate exhales a short laugh, “You’re a synth? _You_?”

“Well I don’t like talking about it,” Deacon rubs the back of his neck, “The cranial reboot was a bit of a botch job, so I got no memories. But look, since we’re traveling together I want you to take this.” He pulls a folded slip of paper from his pocket and hands it out for Nate. “It’s my recall code. If you ever need to know something about the Institute, read it to me. It’ll do a hard wipe but you do what you gotta.”

Nate stares at the paper in Deacon’s hand, then glances at the seriousness in his face. Slowly, he reaches for the paper and closes his grip tightly over Deacon’s hand, crushing the paper out of his grip, then crumbles it in his palm and throws it across the floor.

“You take me for a sucker?” Nate stands up and strides away down the hallway.

“Alright, you got me!” Deacon chuckles, watching him retreat, “Hey, don’t take it personally. I lie to everyone!”

_—I knew it! See, Jackson? I said you were a liar!_

_—Hey, I have never lied to you! I have… strategically omitted certain information, but never lied!_

_—Whatever. This better not be going where I think it’s going…_

“You know what, Deacon?” Nate doubles back to the couch, “Who are you to hide behind the lies, the sunglasses, and judge others from the shadows? Like you’re such a good guy.”

“Well, ‘ _if only for the sake of elegance, I try to remain morally pure’_ (Proust),” Deacon forces a smirk as he grabs the balled up paper from the floor, “Listen, I’m supposed to be showing you the ropes of the Railroad. So say this is lesson… well, whatever number we’re at. But that code I gave you has some hard truth.” He unfolds it and shows it to Nate. “ _You can’t trust everyone_ ,” he reads, “…Even if someone sounds sincere… The bitch of the problem is 90% of the time someone’s on the up and up, and 10% of the time it’s you being played.”

Nate cocks an eyebrow, “That’s a dangerous thing to say.”

Deacon chortles, “Guess I’m a _dangerous_ guy.”

Nate’s gaze flicks across Deacon’s face for a moment before he sits on the couch beside him. He grabs Deacon’s filled glass from the coffee table and pushes it into his hand.

”Drink,” whispers Nate.

Deacon hesitates then downs the glass, feeling the prickled fumes of the liquor flush upward into his nose.

“Tell me something real, Deacon,” says Nate tiredly.

“That stuff about not trusting everyone is as real as it gets, boss,” Deacon replies.

Nate sighs a little and hitches his arm over the couch as he turns to face Deacon better, “Tell me something you feel, then.”

“I _feel_ like you’re trying to get me liquored up,” Deacon chuckles as he holds up his empty glass, then places it back on the table with the recall code. Nate keeps his silence, instead just watching Deacon. “Uh, I feel… like there’s a lot we can teach each other.”

“Like?”

“Like me showing you the Commonwealth—”

Nate scoffs as he shakes his head, “I don’t need a tour guide.”

“What do you need?” Deacon dares.

Nate’s eyes roll to meet Deacon’s shades. He answers with a somber grin and pushes his lips to Deacon’s. But Deacon pulls away, pressing the back of his knuckles over where he was kissed.

“Oh uh, I don’t really… um, have a romance option or whatever…” Deacon’s voice falls away.

“No?” Nate seems more amused than anything else, “A guy like you… voice like that, all the lives you’ve lived and you never…?”

“Not with… a-a guy… Wait, what about my voice—?” Deacon shakes his head, “Anyways, I thought you were married to a dame!” (I just really like Deacon’s voice, lol)

Nate scoffs, “So?”

“ _Sooo_ …” Deacon gets to his feet, “I should get going… Dez probably has another job for me back at HQ anyways.”

“I got a _job_ for you here,” leers Nate.

“Hah, clever,” Deacon chuckles, but still strides to the door.

“Didn’t you say you find my company refreshing?” Nate says, causing Deacon to pause at the doorway.

“I think you misread that.”

Nate turns to Deacon, “I don’t think I did.”

Deacon scoffs, “I’ll see you later, Nate.”

“You might not!” Nate says from the couch. Deacon hesitantly pokes back into the house. “You said it yourself… Transporter _might_ work. If it doesn’t, Tom said something about every cell in my body being scrambled to pudding, or was it eggs? Well the takeaway is that every fiber of my being will be massacred on a subatomic level. Painfully, I assume.”

“That’s not gonna happen,” Deacon says slowly from the doorway.

“But if it does…” Nate pours himself another glass, “I spent 200 years alone in stasis as the world went by. If something does go wrong…” he stares into his drink, “I rather not spend my last night on Earth alone in a house I once considered a home.”

Nate holds his glass under his nose taking in the jagged fumes as Deacon teeters. After a moment, he comes back into the living room next to Nate.

“You got Codsworth.”

“That’s not funny,” Nate frowns.

Deacon sighs and hesitantly sits next to him, “Everything will be fine.”

Nate scoffs, “Not very reassuring.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t want you to say anything,” Nate puts his hand over Deacon’s knee.

Deacon breathes a short sigh. Nate pushes forward again and Deacon turns away, letting him kiss his ear instead.

“I don’t think—” Deacon starts.

“Good idea, don’t think.”

Nate turns Deacon’s face and forces a deep kiss. After a long moment, Deacon’s tension fades a bit and he lets Nate move down to sucking the side of his neck until he feels teeth.

“O-ow! Okay no!” Deacon pulls away again, “This ain’t happening!”

Nate runs his hand down his own face tiredly. “Come on, Deacon. Don’t be such a prude!”

“I’m not—” Deacon’s words peter when he sees Nate undoing his belt, and he turns away.

“Drop the act, Deacon.” Deacon can hear the fabric of Nate’s clothes shift. “You don’t have to be so guarded all the time.” Deacon keeps his eyes placed on the other side of the room. “Okay, fine. You can just watch. I know you like to get the slant, hah.”

Deacon reluctantly turns back to Nate and sees him with his cock out stroking it. “Oh… that is not kosher…”

Nate smirks and pumps himself a few more times, then gently takes Deacon’s hand to grab his cock and guides his grip up and down. Nate tilts his head back and breathes out, and Deacon feels a new sense overtake him. Something between pity and pleasure. There’s probably a German word for it. Nate’s eyes flutter open again, breath staggered as Deacon touches him.

“You sure you’ve never done this before?” Nate chuckles.

Deacon exhales an awkward laugh, taking his hand away. In a beat, Nate pushes him down across the couch and forces another kiss Deacon pulls away from again. Nate brings Deacon’s hand back to pumping his cock, then starts to tug at Deacon’s zipper.

“N-no way, this is already too much—” Deacon starts to push Nate’s hand away. But Nate holds Deacon down with his arm folded across his chest as he goes at his zipper again and Deacon realizes just how strong Nate really is.

“Trust me, you need this more than I do.” Nate runs his fingers over Deacon’s inseam.

Deacon’s gaze tilts upwards and he holds his breath a little as Nate pulls his dick out and starts stroking it to rise, then brings Deacon’s free hand back to his cock.

_—What the fuck, Jackson! You said you two never hooked up!_

_—No, I said me and Nate never had what you and I have. Which is true! If you let me finish the story, you’ll see for yourself—_

_—You don’t need to describe the sex to me!_

_—Oh, it’s not for you, Vulpes… Okay, where was I?_

_—You were going into unnecessarily graphic detail about your first gay experience._

_Right, right. It’s no JV football story but... Anyways, there I was on the couch…_

Nate’s weight pins Deacon down as he feels Nate’s cock rub against his own dick. His eyes tilt to the ceiling and he fights to stay out of his own mind as it tries to process everything. Maybe he was better off in the shadows... Ready or frot, Nate pushes their hips into each other and strokes their cocks together. To Deacon’s surprise, he feels his own dick growing against Nate. He exhales sharply and finally surrenders to Nate’s hunger with a shuddered moan.

Nate breathes a satisfied chuckle into Deacon’s lips as he jerks them off with the gusto of a yaoi doujinshi (which I know you all totally read). The warmth of another against him reminds Deacon of just how long it’s been, but a pang of discomfort strikes him when he feels the metal of Nate’s wedding band on his dick. Nate’s breath shortens and Deacon feels his cock quiver and fire, and like some primal reaction he cums in comradery. The yolk of night (LOL) seeps into Deacon’s coat and when the fog of his climax fades, he pushes Nate away and gets up. Maybe a line has been crossed… maybe affinity checks have been skipped…

“I-I gotta go…” Deacon pats his clothes with a grimace.

“See you later,” Nate shrugs, a little amused.

Deacon pauses in the doorway for just a second. “You might not…”

Deacon’s footsteps fade away quickly. Nate grabs the recall code off the coffee table and studies the lettering warily, then takes his whiskey down with a grimace.  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I admit I haven't finished writing this story yet. It's almost done but if I start posting it, it'll be incentive for me to finish, which worked for the other story so here we go again. Sit tight, I'll try to upload two chapters a week. If I don't, by all means get up in my grill about it.


	3. Frontwards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After using the teleporter to access the Institute, Nate has gone MIA. The Railroad assumes him dead but Deacon traverses the Commonwealth for Intel.

**[Chapter 3] Frontwards**

The following day, Jackson and Vulpes are on the road again. Like the hundred miles behind them, the land ahead is flat and unremarkable between sparing farmsteads and gas stations. Lo, there isn’t even much to shoot.

“Is it the sky?” Vulpes asks.

Jackson shakes his head, “Nope.”

Vulpes glances around then points to a rusted billboard advertising Nuka cola Quantum, “Is it that bottle?”

“Naw.”

Vulpes sighs. “Well I don’t see anything else blue.”

“Give up?”

“It’s hot and this is a stupid game.”

“I spy with my little eye… the blue balls you gave me last night! Hah!” Jackson slaps his knee with a guffaw.

“Ugh…” Vulpes shakes it off wearily, “You know I’m usually good for some _conditioning_. But what you said last night… I found it, well, a little unsettling is all.”

“ _Unsettling_?” Jackson repeats, turning to Vulpes, “You? That’s rare.”

Vulpes says, “That guy, Nate, he sounds…”

Jackson nods expectantly, “Sounds like what?”

“How to put it…” Vulpes pauses in his steps, “He sounds like Legion material.” 

Jackson snorts a laugh and Vulpes follows after him. “What’d’ya know, guess I got a type.”

“I want to know what happened to you two in the end,” says Vulpes.

“Alright, easy,” Jackson swings his arm around Vulpes’ shoulder, “We still got a ways to walk and it’s—”

“Yes, yes, yes, a long story,” Vulpes waves his hand around, “So the teleporter must’ve worked?”

__________

_Well, more or less. But it wasn’t getting Nate into the Institute I was worried about…_

In the cul-de-sac of Sanctuary Hills, the enormous teleporter whirs to life. With Tom at the monitors, a surge of electricity illuminates the mechanism before Nate, creating a torrent of wind around them.

“Remember!” Desdemona shouts to Nate over the noise, “Contact Patriot, get out as harmlessly as you can and we’ll see you back at HQ for a full report. Good luck, Agent.”

Desdemona solutes Nate and he returns the gesture, then steps onto the teleporter platform thingy. The power surges haphazardly through the machines and an exhaust pipe along the transporter ruptures. As dread similarly courses through Nate’s mind and Tom fights for control over the mechanism, in a flash, the beam closes and Nate disappears. The steel plates above crash to the ground and the monitors crack and smoke. Tom jumps away from a flame and Desdemona holds her breath a little staring where Nate vanished.

“I felt good about that!” Tom smiles, then sheepishly smothers a nearby fire.

_That machine was a one-way ticket. And there was no way to know what he saw on the other side. All we could do was hope for the best… But when a week went by and Nate still hadn’t made it back to HQ, we knew something went wrong. Desdemona kept all the Agents busy, not that it was hard. Thanks to all of Nate’s help, the Railroad was finally in a good place; understaffed, if anything. Still, no one dared to say Nate might be dead. But I knew the guy better than anyone. I knew he was somewhere, surviving like always, but something was definitely up. I ran around the Commonwealth thinking maybe… well, I don’t know… But I looked for him._

_I was in Diamond City doing my guard routine hoping to hear something and got a word from Vadim at the Dugout Inn._

“Nate? Of course I know Nate!” Vadim tells Deacon over the counter, “He made Travis into a real man! Not as funny anymore, but it’s still good.”

“He what? Never mind,” Deacon shakes his head, “I said have you _seen_ him lately?”

“Are you here for drink or just to asking questions, tovarisch?” Vadim strides away to serve a customer.

“Drink?” scoffs Deacon, ”That swill you call alcohol is bound to claim a life one of these days.”

When Vadim’s customer walks off scowling at the both of them, Vadim swings his dishrag over his shoulder and strides back, “You know, I see you in guard’s uniform. But, strangely, the other guards don’t know anything about you.”

Deacon blinks, “Well I work the nightshift, you know. Barely even see the other shifts…”

“It is almost like you are no guard at all,” Vadim crosses his arms, “Crazy, I know. But curious.”

“You know what they say about curiosity,” Deacon says slowly.

Vadim hitches an eyebrow, “What is that?”

“Curiosity gets 50 caps if he tells me who’s come by in the last week,” Deacon pushes the money across the counter.

“You insult the fine spirits my brother and I have bottled with our own unwashed hands,” Vadim snuffs the caps, “We even make the little labels ourselfs. I tell you nothing!”

Deacon rolls his eyes and slams more caps on the counter, “How ‘bout an extra 50 and you can buy all the crayons you need for your little labels.”

Vadim smirks. “It’s deal,” he cups the money into his pocket then leans in, “I see your friend in here two nights ago. He was in a mood, didn’t even say hello to Yefim! He orders three bottles of Brovlov’s, then starts a fight with another customer. So I throw him out!” Vadim spits on the counter and uses the dishrag to push it around. “There was this ghoul that was hanging around here for a few days, looking like he was waiting for someone. Wanted to talk to your friend after the fight. Haven’t seen them since. This is all I see.”

“Who was the ghoul?” Deacon presses.

“This I don’t know,” Vadim shrugs, “But Yefim tells me when he takes the garbage out, he overhears them talking. Yefim hears the ghoul say he’s from Cabot House.”

_It was weird. The Cabot family were the sort who never had any business with, well, anyone. That whole place was pretty mysterious, and that’s coming from me. So I went to Cabot House to run interception but didn’t far._

When the voice at the end of the intercom turns Deacon away, a guarding Sentry Bot barks at him to keep off the concrete lawn. As he strategizes a plan of action on the theme of forced entry, from around the corner Nate suddenly appears, like no biggie.

“You got a Geiger counter, bud?” Deacon catches him by surprise.

“D-Deacon?” Nate blinks, a little confused but otherwise looking fine.

A smile curls when Deacon sees Nate, then his frustration bubbles back. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Oh,” Nate looks taken aback, “I guess it has been a tick…”

“Nate, it’s been, like, nine days! Sanctuary Hills is not happy, by the way,” Deacon frowns, “And everyone at Railroad thinks Tom shredded you subatomicly with the teleporter. Dez is pretty bummed about it.”

Nate’s gaze tilts upward as he considers it, then replies slowly, “I’m just dandy… And it’s good to see you, Deacon…” Deacon stammers on but Nate pats his shoulders. “I have some… _really_ important business to take care of.” Nate moves Deacon out of his way and continues towards Cabot House.

Deacon exhales a curt sigh, “Hold up. Nate! What are you—? Avoiding Railroad?”

Nate chuckles as he approaches the door, “I’m not avoiding the Railroad. I’m definitely avoiding Minutemen, but not you.”

Deacon grabs Nate’s arm and swivels him around to face him. “Then just tell me what’s going on!”

Nate scowls at Deacon for a moment before recognizing the seriousness in his face. He sighs a little. “Fine, I’ll make this as crystal as I can…” he takes a deep breath then explains hurriedly, “I met a ghoul at the Dugout Inn who was impressed or desperate so he offered me a case recovering a package for the Cabot family, which lead me gum-shoing for a missing girl, bringing me to the Third Rail where that sweet canary pointed me to a cult in the Charles View Amphitheater, where I muscled up a grifting preacher and found said missing girl, only she wasn’t a missing girl but a very old missing woman hooked on the alien-infused blood of her imprisoned father, who the whole damn family has been milking like a dairy cow for 400 years, and he promised to help me if I freed him, which I did and now all I have to do is meet him back at Cabot House for my reward.”*

Deacon blinks a few times. “Are you huffing Jet?!”

Nate tosses his arms up and moves back to the front door, “I don’t have time for this! You can shadow if you promise not to interfere but this is urgent!”

Deacon stutters to reason with Nate, but he’s already letting himself into Cabot House and Deacon has no other choice but to follow in hope of clarity. But when the two make it inside, they’re hastily met by a frenzied Jack Cabot and the rest of his family as they run up and down packing their things.

__________

Jackson pauses in his story and slows his steps. Vulpes turns to him questioningly and watches him light a cigarette; with Benny’s golden lighter, no less.

After a few painfully slow moments, Vulpes finally prompts him, “…And?”

Jackson chortles a little and they continue walking along, “I thought you were gonna stop me on the whole alien thing.”

“Eh, I’m not so certain that’s the craziest thing I’ve heard from you,” shrugs Vulpes apathetically, then presses again, “So what happened next?”

“Oh… it was a slaughter,” Jackson exhales a cloud of smoke, “That Lorenzo guy with the pope hat mowed his own family down and Nate helped in exchange for this Mysterious Serum.”

“Right,” nods Vulpes, “The ancient alien-infused blood granting immortality, allegedly.”

“Yes! Good listener,” Jackson pats Vulpes’ head and continues.

__________

Still in a daze from the senseless massacre he just witnessed, Deacon silently follows Nate out of Cabot House and back into the street. Nate flips through his Pipboy and after a moment, Deacon finally finds his voice.

“Nate…” he croaks, “Just tell me what the hell happened at the Institute.”

Nate looks back at Deacon quizzically then breathes a short laugh. “I found Shaun.”

“Well, that’s great—”

“Bit different than I imagined,” Nate continues a little distantly, “But a good boy—good man… Accomplished more than anyone could’ve expected… But he’s sick, Deacon.” He somberly pats his pocket where the Serum rests. “This… this will finally give me my son back,” he turns away, “I need to go to him.”

“Nate, I still don’t understand…” Deacon breathes, “How are you even going to get back to the Institute without the Railroad’s help again?”

Nate’s gloom fades with a simpering grin, “Oh, their technology is way beyond the scrap we salvage on the surface.” His focus falls back to his Pipboy as he messes with the dials.

“So help me jesus if you’re about to fast-travel…” Deacon holds a finger at him.

“Relax, Deacon, keep your wig pinned. I haven’t forgotten about you,” smirks Nate, “I’ll find you when this is all over…”

With that, Nate presses a button on his Pipboy and aura of light swirls around him before he vanishes. For a moment, Deacon doesn’t move. Then he swears as he kicks a rusted can and it bangs off the Sentry Bot’s head.

* _The Cabot House questline_. I just want you to know that was a pretty much perfectly accurate summary of the entire silly questline. By the way, Lorenzo is the 3rd oldest character in the entire Fallout franchise after Toshiro Kago and Paulson from Fo3: Mothership Zeta. Which is cool. 


	4. Father to a Sister of Thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More in the dark than ever, Deacon confronts Nate. But Nate’s only willing to share his secrets if Deacon can prove he’s more than just a Railroad agent. And by prove, he means do butt-stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long intense chapter. Thanks for reading!

**[Chapter 4] Father to a Sister of Thought**

_Damn if I had any better idea of what happened to Nate since the Institute. I don’t want to say he was different, because he wasn’t exactly. But he said he found Shaun, which was his biggest obsession aside from collecting those old novelty Vault-Tec Bobbleheads. If Shaun was dying, it would’ve sorta explained how Nate was acting. Unless… Well still, it’s not like I had a grip of the situation so what was I supposed to tell Desdemona? I mean, sure everyone would be relieved to know we didn’t kill Nate horribly… but I just needed more answers from him first._

_So I had no updates for Railroad for the time being. Things continued like normal. I slummed around for Intel, did some rounds past Goodneighbor… But after a few days I made an excuse to wander on up to Sanctuary Hills but no one had seen Nate recently, not even Codsworth. Wound up back at Diamond City since I got lucky before._

_It was a Friday night, you could smell the moonshine from around the corner and I didn’t even have to step into the Dugout Inn to see another deadbeat being tossed out. Heh heh… booze…_

As Deacon approaches from around the corner, the sound of a full bar in swing chatters through the night. He arrives in time to see Vadim drag someone out of the bar by the collar and pitch them into the dirt walkway.

“One more time! One more time and I only sell you drink from the street!” Vadim warns, “Ty razrushayesh’ moy pab…! I pugaya Yaffim.”

“Lively crowd, Vadim?” Deacon nods wryly at the drunk squirming on the ground.

Vadim claps the dust off his hands as he looks Deacon over, “Well well… The mysterious John Doe, always with the questions.”

“I’ll get right to it and you can go back to your _discriminating_ clientele,” Deacon jibes, “Nate. Been through here again lately?”

A bemused smile wrinkles Vadim’s face then he lets out a dark laugh. 

“What?” Deacon scowls, “What do you know?”

Vadim chortles into a sorry smile. “This is your friend right here,” he gestures to the drunk on the ground.

The drunk flops over and Deacon finally gets a look at his bruised face. 

“Oh Nate, not your greatest hour…” Deacon exhales, then looks back to Vadim, “What happened?”

Vadim frowns, “He starts another fight! This time with very big tipper…!” He clucks, “Nate is good man deep down… But so so troubled. Makes trouble for my other customers! You tell him I will ban him, no kidding!”

“Alright, alright,” Deacon pats the air and Vadim walks off muttering Russian things to himself.

Deacon looks back to Nate on the ground. He’s swilled ten fingers deep and disheveled, a split in his lip. He gracelessly pries himself from the ground, balances against the back wall and winces as he grips his side.

“Prancin’ nancy in a suit fucking roundhoused me…” Nate grumbles to himself, not even acknowledging Deacon, “I fought for this country, damnit!”

He incoherently mumbles something vaguely racist then slides down the wall and Deacon steps in to prop him over his shoulder despite the drunken protest.

“O-Okay,” Deacon grimaces as Nate tries to pull away from him, “Yup, you are off your shit. Hang on, let me take you to Home Plate.” Nate slurs something about not wanting to be mistaken for a prostitute again and Deacon stammers, “No, I mean—damnit. Your pad here.”

Nate ultimately lets Deacon drag him away and several kids throw rocks at them as they move through the alleys.

“Hey! Knock it off!” Deacon shoos the kids as they jeer, “I’ll, I’ll tell your parents! I’m a real guard! Night shift…! Damn city brats…”

Inside Home Plate, Deacon heaves Nate into the mattress with a deep exhale.

“Geez, Nate, demons much?” sighs Deacon, “Even Proust kept it to a few glasses of champagne…”

Nate pushes himself up a little then finally recognizes his company, “Oh! Deacon!” He grins widely and sits up, slurring, “ _Deacon_ … Which isn’t a real name. What is your real name anyways? You, you, y-you’re weirdly mysterious, my secretive chum, and how the hell do you change clothes so fast? And, and the sunglasses? What’re you hidin’, you ginger queer?”*

“Yeah, I’m not doing this,” Deacon shakes his head wearily and pulls something from his pocket, “I got some Addictol to sober you up—”

“Uh-uh, no!” Nate holds an arm out, “I am not letting you… kill my buzz, y-you, you… **synth-fucker**!”

With a glower, Deacon pounces Nate and shoves the canister to his mouth but he squirms away. Exasperated, Deacon jabs Nate’s bruised side and as he recoils, shoves the Addictol to Nate’s lips and forces the drugs in. Deacon then steps away to let Nate cough melodramatically for a few moments before he hisses and presses his palms to his head.

“Aughh……….” He lets out a long moan, then croaks, “Thirsty.” Deacon glances around and tosses him a dirty water from the table, which he takes down completely in a few seconds then cringes. “Ugh, irradiated. Tastes like a doorknob…” he smacks his lips wet then exhales another long breath before looking to Deacon tiredly, “What do you want?”

“I think you know,” says Deacon.

“Right,” Nate grunts as he shifts in his seat, then feels the pain in his side again, “Damnit, what did you do to me?”

“That was on you,” Deacon nods to the cut on his lip, “You got one more. Vadim says three strikes and you’re out, heh. Get it? ’Cuz Diamond Stadium?”

Nate winces a little as he touches his face, “Right… Finally won that Port-A-Diner and some bo in a suit says _I stole it…_! V.A.T.S.-ed his ass.”

Deacon sits at the chair across from Nate then sparks up a cigarette.

“Whoa, you smoke?” Nate tilts his head.

Deacon shrugs, “Idly…” 

“You really shouldn’t…”

In a beat, Nate motions for the pack and Deacon tosses it to him. They smoke in silence for a little while, then Nate grunts and groans as he take his coat off stiffly.

“A lot has happened,” Nate says as he stubs his cigarette out on the table, “I know I’ve been… sort of focused… But a lot has happened. And if you need some, some insider report for the Railroad—”

“What? No,” Deacon blinks, “Is that all I am to you? A Railroad Agent?” Nate’s eyebrows crease and Deacon stammers, “I thought we were… friends, or whatever.”

“We are friends or whatever,” Nate leans towards him then grimaces a little, “But… I mean… _Deacon_ , your name? Fake. Your stories? Fake. Even the face?” He scoffs. “I’m not sure I know who you really are.”

Deacon sighs. He takes one more tug from his cigarette then flicks it away because, screw it, the Earth’s already fucked so what harm would more litter do? 

“I lie, yeah. I’ve admitted it before,” Deacon nods, then looks to Nate earnestly, "But you know that’s not all there is to me.”

Nate tisks, “How do I know for certain?”

Deacon recoils a little, offended. After a beat, Nate moves forward and slowly wraps his fingers around Deacon’s hand. Deacon makes a soft grunt and starts to pull away but Nate swiftly grips both his hands tightly, then kisses him.

Deacon breaks away with a chuckle, “Kinda thought that’d be a one-time thing…”

Nate pulls back with an amused grin, “Seemed like you enjoyed messing around.”

“Don’t call it ‘ _messing around_ ’,” Deacon air-quotes, “We’re not teenagers.”

Nate smirks, “Well we definitely mess around like em’.” Nate’s smile fades and he cautiously reaches for Deacon’s sunglasses, but Deacon moves away and Nate sighs. “You’re so guarded… Even with me. So how do I know I’m not just some means to an end? To the Railroad’s end.”

Deacon groans softly, then gets up to sit on the bed next to Nate.

“I’m not here for the Railroad,” he says slowly, “I, I haven’t even told them I’ve seen you since. I’m here because… Well…” his voice falls away as Nate stares at him expectantly with those dark sunken eyes. He breathes out then shoves Nate a little, “You said you’d come find me when it was all over!”

“It’s not over yet…” Nate says grimly. With a sly grin he adds, “Plus you’re better at peeping for me, anyways.” Deacon smiles a bit then Nate places a hand on his knee. “I need to know I can trust you.” His hand slides up Deacon’s thigh.

“How about we just go massacre whole bunches of things together like old times?” Deacon jests awkwardly.

Nate just pushes Deacon into the mattress and brings their lips together. The taste of moonshine from Nate’s mouth mixes with their cigarettes as Nate’s hand moves around Deacon’s body hungrily. Nate exhales a staggered breath into Deacon’s ear then licks it as his hand kneads Deacon’s crotch. As Deacon half-fights his reflex to the touch, Nate reaches for his sunglasses again but Deacon grabs his hand away. Nate frowns, then bluntly starts to yank Deacon’s pants down. Deacon scoots away a little, holding him off.

“W-wait …” he whispers, “I just can’t... you know, _go all the way_.”

Nate scoffs, amused, like so many times before always stoking a little pocket of shame in Deacon. 

“Now who sounds like a teenager?” Nate quips. Deacon makes a small chuckle in acknowledgement and in a beat Nate says flatly, “You have to give me something.” Deacon lets out a little groan confronted with the ultimatum. 

_In the months since I formally knew Nate_ (yup, they’re totally going to fuck) _, we traveled the Commonwealth together enough to have built up some affinity. It’d been so long since I had someone important to me, maybe too long… Nate was something else. Not just as a relic from before the Great War. Or the goddamn biggest hoarder of junk… He drew me out of that alias I spent so long hiding behind._

_—Oh, Jackson, you didn’t…_

_—Sorry, V. This rose has seen other bees._

_—Ugh, so vulgar… And you told me you’d never play catcher!_

_—Yeah… I, uh, had a bad experience with a robot once… Look, can we just drop it?*_

Nate moves in on Deacon again, now sucking the side of his neck as he turns away. But Deacon halfheartedly lets Nate’s fingers return to his zipper and undress him slowly. He fights the reflex to make another joke and Nate pulls down his own pants enough to let his erection enjoy the air. 

Deacon can’t help himself, “Well well, if it isn’t the Railroad’s _secret weapon_.”

“It’s amazing you’re single, Deacon,” Nate grins.

Then Nate slips down the mattress a little and kisses a trail down Deacon’s belly to his dick. Deacon’s lets out a breathy gasp as Nate takes him into his mouth. Whether it’s a reflex to the sensation or actual attraction, Deacon chooses not to think about it as his dick grows around Nate’s warm tongue. Then Nate’s lips slide up and he sucks the tip of Deacon’s dick as he pushes a finger into his, well… _rose_. In a moment, Deacon’s tenseness fades as Nate’s tongue continues to work him, then pushes another finger in.

Deacon clenches Nate’s hair in his fists with a jagged moan, “J-just fucking do it.”

_—Again, Jackson, you really do not need to tell me all this… In fact, you can just skip to explaining why you two parted ways._

_—Believe it or not, Vulpes, the sex is kind of a plot-point._

_—Yeah, there’s just no way that’s true._

_—Well, we could play ‘I Spy’ again instead?_

_—Forget it, just finish the story._

In the quiet night under the glow of baseball stadium lights, two dudes are going at it (just like real life). Nate presses his chest to Deacon’s, pumping into him with a blunt vigor. Pushed against the mattress, Nate’s cock slams into a muscle inside Deacon that makes him gasp and grip the back of Nate’s matted shirt. As Deacon arches his back in a whirlwind of pain and pleasure, Nate pulls away, his hand moving up Deacon’s shirt pulling the buttons off by the strings. When Deacon’s gaze focuses, he sees Nate looking down at him with that amused grin. 

The possibility of this development had crossed Deacon’s mind several embarrassing times before, and in those fantasies he always imagined Nate would be slow and deliberate, like the way he snipes a crippling shot in a Deathclaw’s leg. But feeling Nate’s cock thrusting as he holds a hand pushing Deacon’s bare chest down for the sake of stability, it’s raw and brutish, like the way he stomp-kicks a Radroach.

Nate suddenly pulls out of Deacon and grabs him by the legs, twisting him onto his hands and knees. He pumps himself as he drags his tongue from Deacon’s balls to his ass and Deacon shudders.

“H-hold on, Nate,” Deacon moans in a whir, “Just, just let me refresh some AP—”

But Nate just moves over him and pulls him onto his lap then shoves his cock in again. Deacon fights to keep what little dignity he feels he has left as he rides Nate’s unrelenting cock while his own dick begs for attention. Against his better judgement, Deacon lets out a stuttered breath and jerks himself off as Nate tosses his salad. Nate exhales a jagged chuckle and turns Deacon’s face to his inviting a deep wet kiss. Deacon licks the linger of alcohol from his lips when Nate pulls away sliding his hand down Deacon’s dampened skin. 

Deacon whispers, “Never thought I’d be saying this but... Just don’t finish inside…”

Nate breathes a short acknowledgement and pulls out to spin Deacon back down into the mattress, then shoves his cock in again. This time Deacon reflexively wraps his legs around Nate, nails digging across his back with a muffled moan. As Nate pounds him like a 10-cap Gomorrah whore, Deacon can see his own sunglassed reflection in Nate’s dark eyes. With a few more staggered thrusts, Nate pulls out and by accident or intention, cums across Deacon’s face with a relieved exhale. Deacon breathes a soft grunt in surprise, then quickly and unceremoniously finishes himself off with a stifled moan, and Nate tiredly lands on the mattress beside him.

When the haze of scene fades, Deacon crudely wipes Nate’s cum from his lower face with a shaky hand. Then he quietly pulls his sunglasses off and starts to wipe them on his ripped shirt. As Nate’s breathing evens, he silently looks over Deacon’s bare face for the first time. In a beat, he pulls the sunglasses out of Deacon’s hands and cleans them off with a bandana from his pocket before handing both over. 

“My bad,” Nate smiles sheepishly, “Guess I should’ve used V.A.T.S.”

Deacon takes them and wipes himself clean with an uncomfortable sigh.

He gazes at the glasses in his hands then croaks, “Just seems a little easier… Keeping people at a distance.”

“It is easier,” Nate looks him over then sits up and traces his fingers along the side of Deacon’s face, “But that doesn’t mean it’s the best choice.”

Deacon clears an awkward bubble from his throat then redawns his sunglasses. He pulls away to redress himself in a fresh outfit from his invisible Mary Poppin’s bag of clothes. In a beat, he glances back at Nate, then grabs his pack off the nearby table and sparks another cigarette before stiffly sitting back onto the mattress.

“You know those chems will kill you, right?” Nate watches Deacon smoke.

Deacon chuckles softly, “Maybe back in your day. Nowadays you’re more likely to be blown up by a Super Mutant Suicider. So I say smoke em’ if you got em’.”

Nate shrugs a little in consideration, then leans back into the mattress with a deep exhale.

In another moment, Nate speaks up again.

“Shaun’s dead.”

“W-what?” Deacon chokes on the smoke from his cigarette.

“I was too late,” Nate continues, staring upwards distantly.

Deacon stubs the cigarette out, turning to him, “What… what happened?”

Nate speaks slowly, “He was already sick when we reunited… Searching Cabot House was his idea, but the security was too tight. Luckily that ghoul in the beret brought me in himself… I thought that Serum would save him. But he died before I could even get it to him… I failed him again.”

Deacon searches for the words to respond as he studies Nate’s face. “I don’t know what to say…”

Nate glances at Deacon, “I don’t want you to say anything… But it’s not over yet.” He sits up to face Deacon. “He’s left the Institute in my hands.”

Deacon blinks, “What? What are you talking about?”

“Shaun… the Father…” breathes Nate, “He’s given me control of his legacy… I, I didn’t think I could do it alone but—”

Deacon gets to his feet, tapping his temples a few times in incredulity, “Nate… What in the name of Stephen Russel are you talking about?”* He looks back to him. “Shaun was what—? Running the Institute this whole time?”

Nate tries to pull Deacon back to him but he yanks his arm away. Nate sighs a little, “The Institute isn’t what everyone thinks it is. And it’s under my thumb now.”

“Then destroy it!” Deacon scowls, “Not what everyone thinks, my aching ass! What the hell is wrong with you, Nate?”

Nate frowns. “I’ve lost my wife, my son… I won’t lose you, too,” he stands to turn Deacon towards him, “Come run the Institute with me.”

“You’re stewed,” Deacon scoffs, “What about all the work you did for Railroad?”

Nate shakes his head tiredly, “Forget the Railroad, Deacon. You’re more than just an agent, you said so yourself. Screw that sewer of misguided fools and do something real with me. We can make the Institute whatever we want. We can change the Commonwealth for the better in ways no other faction can!”

Deacon struggles to produce words, shocked at everything he’s hearing. He paces for a moment before a dark thought stops him in his tracks. His eyes fall to the floor as he shakes his head, disputed, but ultimately looks back to Nate.

“Nate…” he can barely bring himself to say it, “…Did the Institute… Are, are you a synth replacement?”

Nate moves backwards in surprise, staring at Deacon.

“How could you even think that?” Nate breathes.

“Well can you blame me?” Deacon presses, “You’ve been off since you got to the Institute!”

“You don’t know what it’s like to have your only child taken from you, Deacon,” Nate shakes his head slowly, “And you’re being paranoid. Shaun is my own son; he wouldn’t’ve hurt me.”

“How would you know? You didn’t know the guy! He was taken when he was a baby, and from the sound of it he lived his whole life by the time you actually met him!”

Nate moves in on Deacon like he’s readying V.A.T.S., but the look of merited judgement in Deacon’s face makes him lose momentum.

Nate glances at him apologetically, “I’m not a synth. I mean, we just had sex… Can synths even ejaculate?”

He nods a bit, “I’d be a lot more surprised if they couldn’t.”

Nate sighs, “It’s really me—same guy you’ve been following around the Commonwealth like a bald little puppy.” When Deacon stays quiet, Nate adds, “Just let me show you the Institute and it’ll all make sense.”

“No… no…” Deacon grabs his coat and pulls it on, “This, this was all a huge mistake… Traveling the Commonwealth… The teleporter… And you know what? Letting you fuck my ass wasn’t even the most painful mistake…” He looks Nate ruefully in the eyes. “If only you couldn’t spell RAILROAD.”

“The only mistake would be you not joining me, Deacon,” Nate warns.

Deacon groans under the weight of the night. “I just… I gotta think.”

When Deacon strides to the front door, Nate calls out to him, “Deacon… If you return to the Railroad, you’ll be turning your back on me.” Deacon looks to him daringly. “I’ll give you 24 hours to decide who you really are: A nameless soldier for a hopeless cause…? Or commander of a new world order. You’ll find me in Sanctuary Hills.”

Deacon exhales deeply, studying Nate’s sunken eyes. He opens his mouth to say something, but instead holds his silence and leaves into the dark alleyways.

The following evening, Deacon arrives at Sanctuary Hills with slow heavy feet. The settlement Nate helped sprout in the old neighborhood is singing with life thanks to a bar and a few dogs (pick-me-up stations are also good for raising Happiness). The sound of the settlers’ cheer peters as Deacon approaches Nate’s house where Codsworth floats nervously at the entryway, still wearing the dusty bowler.

“Ah…” the old robot greets Deacon somberly, “Master Nate said he was expecting you.”

“Codsworth,” nods Deacon, “It’s time.”

“Oh, Deacon. Your witticisms, as always, are I’m sure quite droll,” Codsworth moves out of the doorway then adds, “Do be mindful now… No doubt the ol’ processor wouldn’t take it should anything happen to Master Nate…”

As Codsworth floats away, Deacon wavers for a moment then steps into the house. Looking around the empty living room, he imagines the life Nate and Nora had _in the before times_.* His mind’s image of the couple fades, replaced by his own memories with Nate. He tears his eyes away, now realizing how much Nate fears loneliness. He strides down the hallway, glancing around for Nate and finds him standing in Shaun’s old room gently leaning on the frail crib.

Though he’s sure he’s made himself heard, Deacon raps on the wall a little, “Knock knock, housecleaning.”

Nate keeps his back to Deacon and for a few long moments says nothing.

“Well?” Nate finally speaks, eyes on the broken mobile of Shaun’s crib.

Deacon grunts, staying in the doorframe. “Nate… I know you’ve been through a lot, and I can’t imagine what that must all feel like…” he picks his words carefully, “But you’re not thinking clearly—”

Nate shakes his head as Deacon talks then swiftly spins around, “No, you’re not thinking clearly…! Deacon… I’m giving you the chance to be more than just an alias. I’m giving you the chance to be the person you really are!”

“No,” Deacon shakes his head, “You just want me to be the person you want. And I’m not your fucking wife.”

Nate’s face melts into a dark scowl. Against the wall is an old baseball bat Nate picks up to point warningly at Deacon.

“One last chance, Deacon,” Nate says, “If you’re not with me, you’re against me. And you know me enough to know you don’t want to be against me.”

Deacon glances at the bat in his hands then stares into Nate’s deep eyes, “I don’t know you anymore.”

Nate’s arm lowers as he gazes at Deacon in disbelief. He turns away, looking back to Shaun’s old crib. After a beat, he sturdies his grip on the baseball bat then smashes it into the rotted wood. Deacon jumps a little in surprise.

“People are temporary,” Nate swings the bat into the crib again, “People are… rebellious.” He swats again and a rocket off the mobile launches across the room. He turns back to Deacon with a Raider-like grin, “And now I see synths are the future!” With one final crash, Nate brings the crib splintering to the ground.

He breathes out as he pushes his hair back then straightens up and moves towards Deacon, who reflexively takes a fighting stance. But Nate grins cheekily then throws the baseball bat into the shattered heap.

“Don’t worry,” Nate pats the side of Deacon’s face though he jerks away, “ _I_ wouldn’t hurt you.”

Instead, Nate steps past Deacon into his old bedroom where he crouches by the nightstand staring at Nora’s wedding ring. With a weary sigh he finally pulls his own wedding ring off and sets it next to Nora’s.

“I told you…” Deacon rasps, “I told you not to go down this road.”

Nate stands up, looking back to him, “And I told you I’d put a bullet in anything that stood between me and Shaun. Since he’s gone, what I have left is his legacy of the Institute…” Nate takes a few slow steps towards Deacon and looks to him with that smug grin. “You might want to go tell Railroad I’m coming for them.”

As Deacon stares at Nate in disbelief, a swirling light forms around him and he looks down to see Nate’s finger on his Pipboy. They share a one last stare into each other’s eyes before Nate teleports away.

*The game files show Deacon’s real hair color is “ginger.” I guess Nate could canonically know that from Deacon’s pubes, unless he’s got a second wig not mentioned in the game.

* _Bad experience with a robot._ Yes! It was Fisto from New Vegas!

* _Stephen Russel_. He voiced Nick Valentine and Codsworth. Also appeared in Fallout 3 as Harold, Wadsworth and more. And he was in Skyrim as Mercer Frey, Belethor, Pelagius the Mad, Barbas and more! Also in Fallout 76.

* _In the before times._ Hahaha, this is from Mad Max.


	5. Roll With The Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dramatic story of Deacon and Nate pauses as Jackson and Vulpes arrive at a crossroad settlement. Listening to the tale, Vulpes can’t help but feel like Jackson’s withholding something important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much needed short relief chapter between high drama. Jackson and Vulpes are in regions uncharted by Fallout games.

**[Chapter 5] Roll with the Wind**

The following day’s hike takes Jackson and Vulpes to a farming town scouted via Pipboy where they can pick up supplies and maybe have more storytime. Before yesterday’s end, Vulpes prodded Jackson for a few more details in his tale but in a rare moment of gloom, Jackson had no more to share for the evening. What Vulpes expected to be another farfetched anecdote of the side-quest variety has become more of a main-quest vibe. Vulpes desperately wants to know the rest of the story of Deacon and Nate, but he doesn’t want to seem too eager, as he’s never been before and sees no point in starting now.

After about five weeks of walking, they’ve entered the remains of Oklahoma where a crossroad community called Myriad has established around the ruins of a pre-war botanical garden.* Though the original plant life has withered away, the people of Myriad have grown their own garden of mutated plants and even ranch the altered ancestors of longhorns and bison from the nearby wildlife preservation. Coming into Myriad, Jackson and Vulpes see a healthy plaza of venders, traveling merchants and shoppers. Vulpes pulls away to get a better look at the animal pen while Jackson barters, as he loves to do. 

What hits Vulpes first is the musty smell of the livestock, but he pushes past it and approaches the wooden fence to study the odd bison. As he looks on, a young woman in dirty coveralls skips up and leans backwards on the fence next to him.

“Yer not from around these parts are ya?” the woman grins at him, pushing the thick curls out of her face.

Vulpes looks her over. He still hasn’t gotten used to being treated as a civilian instead of a uniformed frumentari. And even without the Legion outfit, people still tended to avoid him, perhaps due to his naturally sour Eminem-like face.

“No,” Vulpes grunts.

“I can tell,” the woman waggles her eyebrows, “Yer lookin at them Tanka like yous never seen nothing like em’.”*

Off-put by the woman’s abuse of the English language, but reminding himself to _chill_ like Jackson told him, Vulpes swallows a little then repeats, “ _Tanka_?”

The woman spins around and points at the two-headed bison, “Them big ones with the beards. Thems some grouchy bastards but you get’em on the yolk, they’ll plow yer whole field ‘fore lunch. And they make good eatins’ themselfs.” She looks Vulpes over curiously then holds her dirt-crusted hand out. “I’m Nadine Everbrooke.”

Vulpes can’t bring himself to touch a stranger’s gross hand and instead nods curtly, “Vulpes.”

Nadine lets out a snorty chuckle, “That’s a funny name… But yer kinda funny-lookin’, so I guess it suits ya… You got a last name?”

Vulpes thinks for a moment then mutters softly, “Inculta… Sims?”

Nadine turns her head, chuckling, “Pardon? _Vulpes Inculta Sims_?” She guffaws.

“No, it’s just _Inculta_ … Actually—It’s, it’s just _Vulpes_ ,” he feels himself go a little red.

Nadine swallows the rest of her laughter as she fans herself with her hand, “Yeah, for the best… Names can only be so ridiculous, I suppose…”

“Uh-huh…” Vulpes moves away from the animal pen and the woman, walking back to the plaza.

Nadine hops after him with a grin, “Suppose ya came fer supplies like everyone else ‘round here… Where ya headed, mister?”

Vulpes breathes wearily, “I have no idea.”

“You on one of them spiritual journeys then?” asks Nadine.

“I hope not,” Vulpes replies, then comes to a stop at the edge of the market plaza looking around the stalls for Jackson.

Eventually he spies Jackson through the crowd talking to an arms merchant. To Vulpes’ mild surprise and greater interest he sees Jackson trade a large pouch of caps for a mean-looking minigun. 

Nadine pipes up again, cutting Vulpes’ focus, “Well, mister, ya may’s well rest up for the night. No point travelin’ in the dark and all.” Vulpes loses sight of Jackson through the crowd and Nadine continues, “My family runs the saloon down that’a way, called the Dusty Saddle. It’s gotta hitchin’ post out front, real old timey-like. Can get a home-cooked meal, warm bed… put some caps in my family’s pockets…”

“Understood,” Vulpes’ gaze darts around the plaza.

Suddenly Jackson appears before Vulpes, clapping him on the shoulder with an keen smile.

“Hey, there you are,” Jackson grins, “I’m parched, what about you?”

Nadine bounces forward, “Oh! I was jus’ tellin’ yer pal here, there’s a saloon over yonder. Called the Dusty Saddle. It’s got drinks and beds and all manner of hospitality fer wanderers such’is yerselves.”

Jackson beams between the two of them, “Vulpes! Did you make a friend?!”

Nadine holds her dirty hand out to Jackson, “I’m Nadine Everbrooke, nice to meet’cha.”

“Wow, manners, so rare!” Jackson shakes it back, beaming, “I’m Jackson. Jackson Sims.”

Nadine tilts her head a little, “Sims?” She points over to Vulpes. “Well now didn’t y—”

Vulpes stiffens and then stammers, “Uh, how about you just take us to, ugh… the Dusty Saddle.”

Nadine fluffs excitedly, “Yes, sirs!”

The cheery farm girl leads Jackson and Vulpes through the entryway into Myriad’s garden where impressively green vines overtake the archway. Vulpes thinks to ask Jackson about his purchase, but Nadine continues yammering on about the town (and not unlike the game, I guess people just have huge fucking pockets, so what’re you gonna do). As they walk along the former grounds of the botanical garden, they see patchwork farmsteads and other humble homes around small fields of crop. There’s some locals about, like a pair of aging sunburnt men smoking on a porch, a woman tilling corn stalks with a baby strapped around her, and a few kids playing with a rad-squirrel on a leash. 

As the three stroll along, a pair of curious dogs follow sniffing and boofing at them, and Vulpes thinks of the wolf-like Legion mongrels he used to know. In his own mind, Vulpes admits to himself civilian settlements may have a charming simplicity to itself after all, not unlike Jackson’s own Labrador-like love for him.

Jackson and Nadine chat as they walk, about pointless things like the gardens and settlement’s history. Vulpes rolls his eyes, thinking about how talkative Jackson is with everyone. His mind flutters back to the Commonwealth story he’s been listening to, and how Jackson—formally Deacon—was in many ways a very different person than he’s known. Vulpes knows he, himself, has his own past identities as a Legion frumentari and a young tribesman, but he can’t help but feel a little uneasy about everything. Vulpes had renounced everything that he had known, albeit karmic evil, to find himself his humanity with Jackson—(oh no, maybe this is a spiritual journey). Seeing him today picking up a suspiciously inconvenient heavy weapon, Vulpes wonders what other secrets haven’t been shared.

“Welp, here we are!” Nadine dances along, fanning her hands to the bar in front of them, “The Dusty Saddle! Coziest trough in the Midwest… What’s left of the Midwest anyhoo…”

Unlike the patchwork homes, the saloon appears to be a mildly-damaged pre-war building complete with the foretold cowboy hitching post by the front deck. Jackson smiles at the horseshoe “u” in the Dusty Saddle sign. 

“Jus’ head on in and talk to the angry-looking scruffy guy if you want drink, or his angrier-looking wife if you wanna bed,” Nadine waves them off.

Like the outside, the inside is made to look like an old timey saloon complete with poker tables and decorative skulls of livestock on the walls. Despite the quaintness of Myriad, it fetches a decent crowd from travelers it seems. Jackson and Vulpes step through a small crowd of patrons to the counter in the back where an angry-looking scruffy man stands before a rack of liquor bottles. Above the bar is, lo and behold, a very old dusty saddle.

“Evening, Mr. Everbrooke I presume,” Jackson greets the man, “Beer, and…” he looks to Vulpes.

Vulpes thinks for a moment, “Vodka.”

Jackson grins at him curiously then looks back to Mr. Everbrooke pointing at the saddle behind the bar, “So what’s the story of that thing?”

Mr. Everbrooke shuffles back with a bottle and speaks unusually slowly, “That there’s a saddle from pre-war times. Found her’in the barn round back.”

“It’s for Brahmin?” Jackson goes on.

Vulpes mumbles to Jackson, “Do you always have to exhaust all dialogue options…?”

“Naw,” Mr. Everbrooke gently pours the drink, “Horses… Them bombs did’em in, but they were like lean Brahmin, but real fancy-like. Even had they own shoes… like’in on the sign out front.” Mr. Everbrooke pushes their drinks across the counter. “Do ya fer anything else, gents?”

“What’s around the area?” Jackson asks, taking his beer.

“Reckon there ain’t much,” Mr. Everbrooke shrugs tiredly, “If you gents’re lookin’ to prospectin’ y’all best not be heading south. Ain’t nothing that’a way but hungry critters and radiation.”

Jackson thanks the bartender and he and Vulpes take their drinks to a table in the back to shed some of the weight of their long off-screen trek.

Jackson sips his beer with a small frown, “Sometimes I really wish I didn’t give up hard liquor… You know, with my tolerance beer is hardly alcohol. It’s just… soon-to-be piss. But at least it’ll be nice to sleep in a decent bed again…” He looks Vulpes over, then smiles wryly. “You’ve been pretty quiet… Something wrong? You want me to get Nadine to cheer you up?”

Vulpes gazes around the bar for a moment, thinking. “Where are we going, Jackson?”

Jackson’s face falls a little, “I told you—”

Vulpes scoffs. “It’s just, this whole _Deacon_ thing is making me wonder what else you’re hiding. I’ve at least gathered we’re not just wandering, but instead you’re taking us somewhere... I saw you…” Vulpes scoots his shotglass in a circle over the table, “Last night after we fell asleep. I woke up in the early hours and saw you outside fiddling with your Pipboy. And it wasn’t just last night, either. You’ve been searching for something ever since we left the Mojave. Why keep it from me?”

Jackson lets out a tired sigh then sparks up a cigarette. He takes a long drag from it then chases it with a deep glug from his beer, and then takes another few frantic puffs, chugs the rest of his beer, and finally hocks a loogie that hits a rusted spittoon with a ding.

“I promise it's not how it seems. Don’t go conspiring against me, cactus flower…” Jackson folds his sunglasses into his pocket and goes on slowly, “Vulpes, there’s a reason why I’ve been telling you about my time in the Commonwealth… You trust me, don’t you?”

Vulpes looks into Jackson’s odd Bowie-esque eyes, “…Sometimes.”

“I know that’s a lot for you…” Jackson lifts Vulpes’ shotglass up for him, “So drink that. I’m gonna get us another round, and then I’ll finish that story for you... And for anyone else who might be following along.”

*In case you’re curious or already reading this, the settlement of Myriad is based on an actual location. “Myriad Botanical Garden” is an oasis in Oklahoma City and there’s a Wildlife Preservation center in Bartlesville with bison and longhorns and other not very funny stuff

* _Tanka_ , the mutated ancestors of bison. “Tatanka” in Lakota means bison

** _Roll With The Wind_ by Pavement deadass has the phrase “Boston Brahmin” in it. Spooooky...


	6. Platform Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A """fallout""" turns former fwb Deacon and Nate into sworn enemies. Nate brings the hellfire of the Institute down on the Commonwealth and it’s up to Deacon to stop the fallen hero once and for all, action movie style.

**[Chapter 6] Platform Blues**

_I made it back to Railroad HQ as fast as I could and explained what happened: Nate coming back from the Institute as its new leader, and the bullseye he’s marked on headquarters. There was this small part inside me that thought Nate still might come around… But in the end, there wasn’t enough time to prepare._

_It wasn’t even Nate… He ordered a militia of 2 nd gen synths lead by this X6-88 courser to storm HQ. Like suddenly he didn’t want to get his hands dirty… You know, Railroad’s not like the Brotherhood; not frontline soldiers in power armor. So we tried our best but whole damn HQ went up in smoke…_

With his fellow agents falling around him and the synths firing on, Deacon does his best to pick the attackers off. Ducked behind an overturned desk next to Desdemona, Deacon reloads his gun as he catches sight of X6-88 toss a bundle of pulse grenades across the floor. In a second, they explode sending equipment smashing around the room.

As the ringing dies off and loose papers shower to the floor, Deacon blearily comes to bloodied and pinned under a desk. In the blast, he’s lost his trademark sunglasses and he feels something sharp in his side. He tries to move but the sound of Desdemona’s pained moan turns his focus, and he sees her bloodied against the far wall. The synths step towards her with their guns pointed but X6 raises an arm up holding them back. Instead he approaches alone, and with a single pull of the trigger finishes her off. X6 then straightens up and looks around the room, and Deacon ducks down keeping his breathing low. A staticy voice chirps through X6’s earpiece.

“Is it done?”

“Affirmative,” X6 replies.

“…And Deacon?”

X6 gazes around the wreckage then takes a few steps towards the desk Deacon is under. Deacon holds his breath. Finally, X6 crouches down to grab something from the clutter.

“Eliminated, sir,” X6 reports holding Deacon’s broken sunglasses.

_______________

A stiff silence washes over Jackson and Vulpes’ corner booth at the Dusty Saddle. Jackson finishes his second beer and lights another cigarette as Vulpes studies him. 

After a beat, Vulpes clears his throat a little. “You went after him, didn’t you?” Jackson’s gaze fixes on Vulpes as he continues. “Nate believed you were dead. You could’ve easily escaped the Commonwealth without anyone knowing…” a rare smile graces Vulpes’ lips, “But you ran straight back with suicidal recklessness to give Nate everything you had… isn’t that right?”

Jackson savors Vulpes’ smile for a moment, then takes a deep tug on his cigarette with a small grin, “I got a playstyle.” Jackson’s smile slips away as he tamps his cigarette. “But… by the time I got everything setup, Nate already went nuclear… I mean, the sheer destruction…” He sighs shaking his head then looks to Vulpes sternly. “He blew up the goddamn Brotherhood airship.”

Vulpes grunts, “You blew up the Hoover Dam.”

“I didn’t kill hundreds of people in the process! Plus, my thing worked out in the end,” Jackson looks offended.

“I wouldn’t say _in the end_ , but grass is a place to start,” shrugs Vulpes.

Jackson waves his cigarette around, annoyed, “Point being, Nate was clearing the board. He destroyed the Railroad, he destroyed the Brotherhood, and I was setup for his attack on the Minutemen. Their last stand was at The Castle… Not much of a militia but good defense. Just needed them to hold strong for my strike…”

_______________

A cheery sunny sky shines down on the western mudded plains, and a legion of 1st and 2nd-gen synths lead by a Legendary Strider march steadily to the crumbled Castle. The forces of Minutemen and settler volunteers rush to lock all the entry points and arm their traps. A Minuteman soldier ignites a smoke grenade and launches it over the Castle wall where it lands in in the synth crowd breathing a plume of purple smoke. A clutch lead by Ronnie Shaw bring the rusted artillery canon to motion and aim it at the smoke billowing from the heart of the synth militia. The Minuteman stand shout to each other, bracing themselves and the artillery canon fires with a splitting bang. The heavy ballistic slugs through the air. And with a whistle, it nosedives and blasts a dozen synths into the dirt.

The quake of the artillery canon rumbles through the synth forces to the roof of a nearby diner, where Nate stands with X6-88. Instead of his usual Commonwealth garb, Nate wears an Institute outfit with synth armoring. 

“Whew!” Nate smiles excitedly as the shockwave passes, “I admit, I didn’t think the Minutemen would get that thing working without me. Not that it changes anything...”

The synth army moves in on The Castle, firing at the Minutemen militia guarding center wall. A few traps trigger, sending a pulsewave out that incapacitates a handful of synths. 

“You sure you don’t want to join the fun?” Nate nods to X6, “I know how much you enjoy killing the insubordinate.”

“Thank you, no, sir,” X6 straightens himself and steadies his grip on his laser rifle, “My place is to protect you. Be assured, sir, all of the Commonwealth will bend to the Institute’s order…” He pauses thoughtfully then adds, “I believe the Father would have been quite proud of what you’ve accomplished.”

A pang of sorrow strikes the arrogance from Nate, and X6 tilts his head a little at the display of emotion. In a moment, his eyes fall behind Nate to a harsh glint from a rooftop nearby where a long rifle takes its aim from under cover of debris.

“Get down, Mr. President!” X6 shoves Nate away as the crack of a bullet splits the air.*

Nate hits the deck and X6 takes a clean shot straight through the Courser chip. On the nearby rooftop, the rifle reloads. In a beat, Nate yanks X6’s body to shield him and the second bullet sinks into the courser’s chest. Nate rips the gun from X6’s hand and aims it at the rifle on the rooftop. With a V.A.T.S. assisted shot, Nate clips the gun from the assassin’s hands, then lies X6’s body down.

“I can’t…” X6 rasps, then fades.

Nate straightens up.

“Well?!” he shouts at the assassin, “Why don’t you come down here and we’ll do this for real!”

Nate waits expectantly, and after a few moments the assassin bursts from cover and leaps clear off the rooftop. With a quaking boom, they land in modified Power Armor. It’s Deacon, though his identity remains hidden behind the helmet. 

Nate’s a little taken aback, but settles to look as amused as ever, glancing over the rare X-01 suit, “You’re not a Brotherhood survivor… Who are you?”

Deacon starts to move towards Nate, and pulls out a handgun.

“Now, hang on,” Nate pats the air with his smug grin, “Whoever you are, I bet you hate me enough to agree to do this the old fashion way…” He tosses the laser rifle to the ground then cracks his knuckles. “And considering your military-grade Power Armor, I’d say I’m being a real gentleman.”

“Seriously?” Deacon’s voice distorts through the visor.

Nate nods, still smiling, “You better have a full Fusion Core.” 

Meanwhile, the synth forces are against The Castle’s patchwork flank. A Minuteman soldier standing above shoots a trap active and it explodes, taking out a few synths and maiming several more. But the Strider fires back at the soldier, and he Wilhelm-screams tipping over the wall.

Back at the diner, Nate hops off the roof to meet Deacon in the mud.

“You arrogant self-righteous bastard,” Deacon growls, “Time for you to join your family.”

Nate’s eyes widen with a sneer, “…Do we know each other?”

Despite the events leading up to this moment, Deacon is still further surprised at the magnitude of Nate’s arrogance. Even for someone as headstrong as him, duking it out against Power Armor is for Deathclaws and the stewed. But Nate’s face shows no hint of fear. What Deacon sees instead is the same smug grin that coerced its way into Deacon’s heart, and up his butt. Nate always had a talent for getting his way…

Deacon holsters his gun and readies himself, expecting Nate to make the first move. Instead he just calmly dawns a pair of blunted brass knuckles and stands there expectantly. Deacon lunges forward. The ground beneath him trembles under the weight of the armor and he strikes out. The hit lands squarely in the center of Nate’s chest, but he doesn’t even stagger. His excitable smile stretches wider and he returns the strike. Despite the measly unarmed weapon Nate uses, the punch lands so hard, it sends Deacon stumbling backwards.

“W-what the fuck?” Deacon stammers. Not even a Courser should be able to stagger Power Armor.

Nate lunges forward and leaps, driving his fist down on Deacon as he tosses his arms up to block. The brass knuckles slam into Deacon’s arm, pummeling its durability. Nate lands and immediately strikes against Deacon’s chest beating him backwards and with a back-hammer, sends Deacon spinning away. But Deacon rights himself and twists back around, landing an armored uppercut to Nate’s jaw. Nate staggers back a bit and spits into the ground.

“Hah!” Nate forces a mocking laugh, “Whoever you are… You’ve got metal, I’ll give you that… But once that Fusion Core runs out, I’m going to rip you out of that Power Armor and turn you to filling for a gore bag!”

Deacon glances at the fuel charge meter. Half capacity, and parts of his armor have already taken a beating. Nate was always hench and marine enough to intimidate most, but the raw strength he displays today is inhuman. Another rumble from the artillery canon brings assurance to Deacon’s steps, and he launches for Nate again.

This time Nate steps away, but it was a fakeout and Deacon slams a right hook against Nate’s cheek. When he goes for another strike, Nate catches Deacon’s fist. With an amused snarl, Nate’s grip vices, somehow crushing the metal Power Armor like a tin can and Deacon feels a few of his knuckles shatter.

“Fuuuck!” Deacon rips away as a shockwave of agony courses through him, and he cradles his fractured hand.

Nate laughs sadistically, dusting the fragments of armor off his palms.

“What the f-fuck are you?” Deacon wheezes.

With that smug grin Deacon’s come to hate, Nate pulls an odd syringe from his coat. He flicks the needle a few times then drives it into his neck like he’s fucking Sid Vicious. When the last of the green liquid inside drains, Nate’s eyes flash emerald and tosses the empty syringe to the ground then pushes the hair out of his face.

He laughs, “I’m the vault-dweller!”

Meanwhile, the Institute synths claw through The Castle barricades Jack Nicholson style. The Minutemen forces scramble to retreat to the inner walls as a group lead by Ronie hold the Institute forces off. A clutch of synths following the Strider move in on a Minuteman guard, but the synths are shot down by a heavy turret. Ronnie pulls the guard to his feet and they slip away as the Strider shoots the turret up in smoke, then comms through an earpiece.

Behind the diner, a voice from Nate’s Pipboy sounds, “Sir, we’ve breached The Castle. But we’re sustaining notable loss. Send for backup.”

“Coming in,” Nate answers back.

He pulls his white coat off, revealing a bandolier of synth relay grenades. Deacon uses the opportunity to inject a Stimpak, and Nate yanks a cord pulling out all the pins and tosses the wreath away. The grenades summon a horde of synth soldiers Nate orders onto the battlefield. 

Deacon glances at the dwindling fuel gage on his Power Armor. “Don’t you think this is a little over the top?”

Nate pivots to him and laughs, “War never changes.”

“Oh, you smug— I’m gonna kick your irradiated ass!” Deacon breathes.

He moves at Nate again, this time flashing the headlamp in his face. When Nate winces, Deacon bowls him to the ground then stands over him reeling back a blunt fist. With his good hand, Deacon slams down across Nate’s face, then strikes again, and again until Nate hulks-out.

“Enough!” Nate roars.

He managing to steer the next fist into the ground, then hoofs Deacon in the crotch. When he staggers, Nate slams a double Brahmin-kick with so much force, it sends Deacon soaring and he shatters through the nearby diner window. As Deacon reorients himself tripping over the broken booths and stools, the Power Armor screen shows four pieces of the suit failing and the other two on their way. The fuel gage is steadily dipping and there’s a crack down the helmet visor. His fingers dance along his belt to a single smoke grenade.

With a lurid crash Nate kicks the diner door off its hinges. He snarls at Deacon, mouth steeped in blood.

“Oh, fuck this,” Deacon draws his gun instead.

“That’s not very sporting!” Nate ducks in the doorway as Deacon unloads the magazine.

When Deacon rushes to reload, Nate bounds in and grabs Deacon’s hand around the gun as he rams his knuckles into Deacon’s middle. Then Nate pushes the gun’s aim down and fires the new clip into Deacon’s legs, shredding the lower half of the Power Armor. Deacon shoves Nate away and manages to block another attack then lands a kick that gives him some distance. But Nate doesn’t relent. With primal strength, Nate grabs a dented bar stool and decks it into Deacon, sending him crashing through another booth as more of his armor erodes away. Deacon scrambles to keep the remainder of the suit and himself together, but Nate has gone full Deathclaw. He front kicks Deacon’s helmet then stomp-kicks him into the aged tile, and in a glorious display he pulls Deacon to his feet to spin him back out of the diner through another window where he finally lands in the mud. 

What’s left of the Power Armor is little more than frame and the fuel gage is on fumes. As Deacon groans in pain, he feels Nate’s heel on his back push him against the ground.

“To quote the cartoons Shaun will never watch…” Nate grins, “Let’s see who’s really behind that mask.”

Deacon struggles fruitlessly as Nate grips the back handle of the suit and opens the armor. The metal framework hisses as it parts and Nate yanks a fistful of the coat inside and tosses it into the ground. He’s bloodied and beaten, and there’s no signature sunglasses. It takes Nate a long moment to realize who he’s looking at.

“…Deacon?” Nate breathes in disbelief, “Is that really you?”

“Nate…” Deacon winces as he gets to his feet, “Get nuked, you son of a Supermutant.”

Nate grins a little looking into Deacon’s eyes, “It really is you…” In a beat, his smile slips away. “You’re supposed to be dead… How funny. You could’ve gotten away, but you came back for revenge, even after telling me not to do the same.”

“This isn’t about revenge, Nate,” says Deacon, “I thought I saw goodness in you, and hell, maybe there was at some point.” He shakes his head, looking Nate over in his Institute garb. “But all I see today is another enemy of the Commonwealth that needs to be put down.”

“That still sounds like revenge,” Nate chuckles.

“What happened to you?” he breahes, “Are you a, a Courser or something?”

Nate lets out a frustrated sigh, then gestures to the ground nearby where the odd-looking empty syringe rests.

“You remember that night, don’t you?” Nate starts. Deacon stiffly picks the syringe up and studies it in his hand as Nate goes on. “At Cabot House.”

“The Mysterious Serum for Shaun…” It’s all starting to piece together before Deacon. 

Nate nods, “That Lorenzo goofball stacked me with a supply… Figured it shouldn’t just go to waste. Unfortunately this diluted crap won’t keep me ageless like him, but it has made me a tank on two feet, don’t you think?” He laughs, flexing his muscles. (+5 STR, +50 DR, to be exact)

Deacon exhales, “Just tell me why…? None of this will bring your family back.”

“Hah… why?” Nate forces a hollow laugh. He digs his hand into his pocket pulling out a crinkled piece of paper and tosses it to Deacon. “I was going to keep it as a souvenir but the poetic irony is too good.”

Deacon catches it and reads: _You can’t trust everyone._ He can only scoff in disbelief.

“This whole time?” Deacon breathes.

“Of course not,” Nate shakes his head, amused, “I’m telling you, everyone was wrong about the Institute, even me. But my eyes are open now, and if you gave me a chance, Deacon, I could’ve given you everything… Oh well… I’ll just hitch your body to robotics-division and have a synth made in your likeness. But with a bigger dick.”

“Oh fuck you, Nate!” Deacon snaps, “I didn’t want it to come to this… but if I have to stop you myself, and I do, I will, and am.”

Nate blinks, “What?”

“ _’Desire makes everything blossom, possession makes everything wither and fade,_ (Proust) _’_ ” Deacon points warningly, despite his injuries, “I’m going to put you back under-fucking-ground, Nate!”

Nate groans, looking more annoyed than anything else, “Deacon, I really didn’t want to be the one to do you in… but you iced my best Courser, so let’s just get this over with and I’ll suppress the whole thing later.”

With a strained sigh, Deacon stares at the syringe and paper in his hand, then pitches them back to Nate, who ducks then straightens up with a frown.

“Well you’re not the only one who can juice up!” Deacon digs into his pockets and pulls out a handful of chems.

“Oh, you’re not seriously going to…” Nate breathes, wide eyed.

Deacon starts railing chems like a goddamn rockstar: Jet, Buffout, Psycho, Med-X, and chases the cocktail by double-fisting Calmex and Daddy-O.

“Holy hell, Deacon,” Nate exhales a small chuckle, “Any other time, I’d tell you that stuff’ll kill you… But looks like the honor falls to me today.”

Deacon replies with a Psycho-induced roar and barrels for Nate. Caught off-guard, Nate braces himself and Deacon slams into him. He grabs Nate around the shoulders and drives his knee into his gut a few times before Nate shoves him away. Nate counters with a brunt fist Deacon catches in the side, but the ability to feel pain has left his body. He stumbles away, quickly catching his balance and tosses a left jab Nate barely dodges. Deacon follows it with a cut Nate blocks, but Deacon rails his chem-fogged head into Nate’s. As Nate recoils, Deacon slams a push kick into Nate’s ribs.

Meanwhile at The Castle, the Minutemen forces have retreated to inside the walls, shooting at the synth army from windows. The Legendary Strider takes a running start and rams his shoulder into the steel door as the Minutemen brace it from the other side of the wall. A trooper pries at the door, but is shot down. The Strider looks up to see Ronnie pointing a rifle at him. She fires again and the Strider takes a critical hit. The armor in his chest breaks away, exposing the mess of wires within and he shoots back. She ducks away and the Strider orders the synths to break down the door as he bounds up the metal stairway to hunt down Ronnie as she dashes along the wall.

Back by the diner, Deacon launches a side kick, but Nate catches his leg and throws him to the mud. Before Deacon can right himself, Nate leaps in and fucking decks the brass knuckles into his nose. As blood streams down Deacon’s face, Nate grabs him around the head and slams it back against the ground, then again and again until Deacon’s vison pulses neon. He blearily yanks the smoke grenade from his holster, and Nate slams his head into the ground one more time. The grenade rolls from Deacon’s limp grip towards the diner, then hisses breathing a ribbon of purple.

Back at The Castle, the synth army fires onto the steel door the Minutemen forces hide behind. A soldier yanks the pin out of a pulse grenade and chucks it through a gap in the wall, taking several out. Above, Ronnie spies the purple smoke billowing into the sky and races to the artillery cannon. In the distance she can see Nate and Deacon. She loads the cannon and swivels it in aim. But suddenly a white hot pain radiates from her shoulder and she staggers around to see the Strider pointing his smoldering laser rifle.

Meanwhile at the diner, Deacon wheezes writhing in the mud. Nate steps off of him panting and shakily pulls his SMG from his belt.

“I never wanted it to go down like this, Deacon,” Nate sighs.

Deacon’s vison pulses back for him to see the gun cock and the emerald sheen in Nate’s eyes flush away. Deacon’s head wearily tips back, gaze tilted at the purple exhaust rising into the sky.

Back at the Castle, the Strider moves in on Ronnie, but she manages to raise her own rifle and fires pointblank. The shot takes a fist-sized hole out of the Strider’s chest, but in a beat he moves back to her. One more shot finally blasts the synth component from the Strider’s metal skull, and Ronnie spins back to arm the cannon with a cheer.

Meanwhile at the diner, Deacon’s chems begin to wear off one by one and the pain they’ve been numbing comes bubbling back. Nate aims his gun at Deacon’s heart with a furious grin. 

“Deacon… It’s about time for you to go,” Nate smiles through bloody teeth.

Just then there’s a whistling sound. Deacon braces himself.

With a tumultuous bang, the artillery slug blasts the goddamn diner and the explosion takes Nate clear off his feet. He slams against a rusted truck limply slumping to the ground. 

Coughing through the dust, he claws himself up to stand. But as the smoke clears, he sees a bloodied Deacon in front of him and rushes to point his gun. But Deacon braces his fist in his palm then spears a pointed elbow into Nate’s face. A blood vessel in Nate’s eye bursts and Deacon breaks the SMG from his grip.

“S-shit,” Nate limps away, franticly bringing a bloodied finger to the map on his Pipboy screen.

“What’s wrong? All out of Serum?” Deacon stumbles after him, “You ain’t fast-traveling to shit anymore!”

With dwindling strength, Deacon sloppily shoves his weight against Nate and the two fall into the mud grappling. 

“This… this is for the Railroad!” Deacon jabs the gun to Nate’s arm.

With a roar, he unloads the magazine. At pointblank, the bullets shred through the flesh as Nate cries out in agony. When the round empties and the gun smolders, Deacon pushes himself back to his feet as Nate cradles his arm… what’s left of it. On instinct, he reaches out for his Pipboy, which remains attached to his severed forearm, but Deacon presses his foot down onto it.

“F-fucking, fuck y-you, Deacon!” Nate squeezes the stump of his arm, “You’re just a-a twofaced nobody hiding in the shadows!”

But Deacon stands tall over him and points the gun between Nate’s hollow eyes. The rage and pain in Nate’s face fall away. He takes a deep staggered breath and looks to Deacon daringly. After a long moment, Nate’s anger bubbles back.

“Just fucking do it!” he shouts. Deacon’s grip trembles and Nate growls lowly, “There’s nothing left for me in this world…”

Looking across Nate’s beaten face, he barely resembles the vault-dweller that first emerged into the wasteland.* In his gut, Deacon knows the man he once knew is long gone, and the bloodied beast that lies beneath him is nothing more than a shell of grief and fury. The ghosts of his own dark past strobe through Deacon’s mind. He releases the clip from the gun and tosses them both into the mud.

“Disappear…” breathes Deacon, “Live with what you did, if you can… And let what’s left of your arm be your fucking souvenir of me. But don’t let me ever see or hear from you again, got it?”

Mercy: a fate far worse than sweet release, Nate knows. And the look of hatred across Deacon’s beaten face only punctuates Nate’s dooming sentence. Nate’s never seen Deacon as serious as in this moment.

“Understood,” Nate grumbles, then watches Deacon rip his Pipboy off his mangled arm, “What are you going to do?”

Deacon fastens the Pipboy around his own wrist.

“I’m gonna destroy the Institute once and for all,” Deacon replies as he jams another Stimpack into himself, “If you’re still in the Commonwealth when I get back—”

“I won’t be,” Nate manages to pull himself to his feet and ties off his stump-arm with his shirt using his teeth. 

Deacon hesitates, looking over Nate, then takes a few staggered steps towards him. A faint glimmer of remorse in Nate’s dark eyes disappears with a mere blink, then Deacon knees him right in the crotch.

“And that’s for calling me a _synth-fucker_ ,” Deacon turns away as Nate drops to the ground.

Deacon flips through the Pipboy screen and locks onto the Institute’s location. With the press of a button, a swirling light forms around him. 

“D-Deacon,” Nate calls out to him from the mud. 

Deacon looks back to Nate. He can see the words clutter in the back of Nate’s throat, but his voice falls away.

“Another time,” Deacon nods, then teleports away.

* _Get down, Mr. President!_ This is just a dumb “game” where you shout this phrase, then tackle your friend to the ground, lol

* _Vault-dweller emerging from Vault 111_. There’s a lot of mystery around Deacon’s character in the game. One theory is that the small camp by Vault 111 was occupied by him as he waited and watched for the vault-dweller. But how would he know about Vault 111? I direct you to the hour long YouTube video on Deacon’s character (spoiler: it’s interesting but inconclusive)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So couple things… This isn’t the conclusion of the fic; there’s a few more chapters in the “present” with Jackson and Vulpes tying up loose ends and setting up my final fic. It’s all drafted but not ready to post. I want to finish it but don’t know when that’ll be. Thanks for reading this far! Had a blast writing this. Worst case, I’ll just upload the draft.  
> I might set up an instagram account for my Fallout fic doodles. If I do, I'll post a link here so check back another time if you're interested in seeing what's mostly rough Fo:GG concept art.


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